


Hey, I was doing just fine before I met you

by ambrotterswriting (Ambros)



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Blowjobs, Damen is a boxer, Forgive us, Laurent is a fencer, M/M, Nicaise is a diver, Oh boy this is going to be difficult to tag, Olympics!AU, clearly, emotionally constipated Laurent, handjobs, hopefully, mentions of a car accident, mentions of drug abuse, okay, that's probably all, we know nothing about how the Olympics work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 18:03:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9135277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambros/pseuds/ambrotterswriting
Summary: -Oh god, I bet he's French. Or English.-Laurent caught himself just before he could lift his head, registering just in time that those words hadn't been spoken in French – therefore, he probably wasn't supposed to understand them. He simply bent his head a little bit to the right, pretending to be looking for someone in the crowd, just to make sure that they were talking about him.Yup, they were.What a delight.-Those people wouldn't recognize fun if it punched them in the face.-Laurent narrowed his eyes and turned his head completely towards the guy who'd been speaking – he was tall and his shoulders were incredibly broad, clearly someone who worked with weights and punches, but Laurent simply smirked at him and was rewarded by the startled expression on the guy's face.-Are you flirting or starting a fight?- Nicaise suddenly appeared by his side, a sparkling pink drink in his hand and blue eyes fixed on the Greek guy who clearly thought languages were a mystery to everyone.Laurent snorted and turned his once again bored gaze on Nicaise: -Flirting with him? Please.-





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunshiner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshiner/gifts).



> Hello!  
> We are Ambros and Ginny_Potter and we are finally here (just in time!).  
> This was very very difficult to write, mainly because English isn't our first language (which is why we'll probably check it once again after it's posted, so, sorry for any mistakes you'll find :\ We've tried beta'ing it while writing it but some things definitely slipped our attention) and we probably chose the worst moment ever to write something. (Trying to get a degree, anyone?)  
> Anyway! This is for sunshinerish on Tumblr and we really hope you like it. It was really fun to write and to try our hands at something so different from what we've done up until now.  
> We apologize for our lack of knowledge about how the Olympics work, we honestly couldn't find many informations about it. Apart from condoms related informations. Which, of course, we've used u.u  
> Last but not least, thank you so so much to those who organized this challenge! They were so kind and helpful and just, thank you, really :)  
> Okay, we'll leave you to this! (We've hope we've done this right); Happy New Year! <3

 

 

Auguste could see the lights in the gym were on, the building's large windows allowing a faint golden glow to enlighten the wet asphalt right outside of it, and he sighed, dragging his fingers through his blond, short hair.

-Stubborn little brother,- he muttered, as he closed the car door with a _thud_ ; he broke in a small run to reach the gym's door – he'd forgotten his umbrella in his bag and it was _pouring_ – and he pushed at it with his hands, rolling his eyes when it wouldn't budge: _of course_ his brother would choose to lock it when there was a storm going on and Auguste didn't have an umbrella.

Although, to be fair, knowing Laurent's mind, he'd probably done it on purpose so that Auguste would just give up and go home.

Of course, Auguste thought, digging in his pocket to find a small, silver key, Laurent had also underestimated how much Auguste knew him and his obsession with his training: he opened the door, grimacing at the feeling of his jacket and his shirt sticking, cold and wet, to his back.

He found Laurent balanced on a bright pink Swiss ball, his legs tense and his arms outstretched in front of him, a frown of concentration on his face.

- _Laurent_ ,- Auguste half whined, half growled, secretly hoping to make him fall face first on the gray gym floor, but Laurent just looked at him with a raised eyebrow, lifting his right forefinger in a _one second_ gesture.

-Oh, _sure_ ,- huffed Auguste with a hint of sarcasm, crossing his arms over his chest, -I'm just going to wait here, _drowning_ in my own jacket.-

Laurent rolled his eyes and hopped off the Swiss ball with an elegant step: -Don't be dramatic, Gus,- he said, snatching a towel off the top of his gym bag to wipe the sweat off his face, -You do know how to swim,- he added, deadpan.

Auguste just rolled his eyes: -You were supposed to be home forty-five minutes ago,- he said, glaring at him; Laurent just shrugged, unaffected: -My balance was off today. I thought I could use a little more training.-

Auguste just sighed and kept staring at Laurent until he budged: -What?-

Auguste raised his eyebrow: -You're nervous.-

Laurent huffed, suddenly unable to look into his brother's eyes: -Of course I'm nervous,- he said, -Didn't you get the memo that said that we are leaving for the Olympics next week? Funny thing: you sent it.-

Auguste relaxed, and the frown on his face was replaced by an almost fond smile: -Don't worry, little brother,- he said, reaching out with his hand to ruffle Laurent's sweaty and pulled up in a messy bun hair, -That's what I'm here for.-

Laurent glared at him, trading his fingers through his hair to assess the damage: -Sending memos? You could have told me seven years ago, I wouldn't have accepted you as a coach.-

Auguste ignored him. He'd become pretty good at spotting his brother's deflecting methods. -Come on, let's go grab a bite before we head home.-

Laurent frowned: -I can't _grab a bite_ , I have a very specific diet to follow.-

Auguste just looked at him with a serene expression until Laurent rolled his eyes: -Give me ten minutes, I need a shower.-

  


*

  


-Nice and low, Damen, just nice and low …-

-I swear to God, Nikandros, if you repeat that sentence one more time I will hit your _face_ nice and low, and you won't _have_ a face anymore.-

Nikandros rolled his eyes in the most dramatic way possible, tilting his head to the left to follow Damen's movements: -You know we have to work on your balance, being aware of where your center of gravity is is the key to winning this thing.-

Damen flexed his knees, trying to get as close to the ground as possible without falling down like a sack of potatoes. It was goddamn difficult, even after all those years. He knew that his main weakness was that he put all of his effort into attacking, without thinking too much about the fact that that might cause him to lose his footing and compromise his position. He just went straight into it, attacking, playing on the fact that he was big and sturdy and quite threatening. But he could not behave like that anymore, he could no longer neglect the subtlest and most elegant parts of his sport. He'd been chosen. He was going to the Olympics.

It still felt like a dream sometimes.

-Don't you dare lift those hips.-

Damen licked his lips, bouncing his weight on his thighs: he could feel his muscles scream in agony, he could feel all of his focus being directed towards his lower body.

-Straighten up, Damen, your upper body is, once again, _not_ over your center of gravity.-

He tried, though his forehead was moist with sweat and it was more because of his desperate attempts at focusing all of his energy in working at his balance than the actual strain the exercise was putting on him.

He almost hadn't moved at all that day, it'd just been an exhausting cycle of bouncing and flexing and falling.

-We should take a break,- said Nikandros after awhile, and Damen almost cried with joy.

-I need to punch something,- he declared.

  


*

  


-This is great,- said Auguste, walking backwards with his front to Laurent, who was studying a painfully small map trying to figure out where _the hell_ they were supposed to go.

-Did you know that, according to Wikipedia, in 2014 a hundred-thousand free condoms were provided for the athletes in the Village?- Auguste kept talking, ignoring the fact that Laurent clearly wasn't and wouldn't pay any attention to him any time soon, -Sidney only provided seventy-thousand condoms and they had to order twenty-thousand more,- Auguste snickered, and Laurent turned his bored gaze on his brother's grinning face: -You didn't research where we are supposed to _sleep_ but you know exactly how many free condoms we should get. Delightful.-

Auguste shrugged, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his now-way-too-warm leather jacket: -You've got the whole worrying about serious stuff covered,- he gestured at the map Laurent was holding, -You didn't leave me much of a choice,- he shrugged again.

Laurent muttered: -My brother is twelve years old,- under his breath.

-Fine,- Auguste sniffed, making a show of stretching his arms behind his head, -Then your twelve years old brother won't tell you that we passed the building we're supposed to be sleeping in five minutes ago.-

Laurent stopped in his tracks: - _What_?-

Auguste was trying to hide a smirk. The little shit. -Sorry. I was having way too much fun.-

Laurent rolled up the map and used it to hit Auguste's head: - _Child_.-, and he turned around.

  


*

  


The elevator's doors opened at the twenty-fifth floor with a soft _ding_ and Laurent and Auguste took a quick look around to figure out whether they had to go left or right before walking towards their room with soft, silent steps over the light brown carpet.

-I need a shower,- declared Laurent scrunching his nose in distaste – he felt gross and sweaty from the flight and Rio's humid warmth, and he'd never been _that_ jet-lagged before.

-Me too,- agreed Auguste with feeling, swiping the magnetic card through the reader, -I feel like I could sleep for days.-

-Doesn't really sound like the right attitude to win a medal, now, does it?-

Laurent smirked, and he turned while Auguste just shook his head in resignation and entered the room; Nicaise was looking at him with a smirk of his own, his arms crossed over his chest like he didn't have a care in the world, the divers team's sweater swallowing his lean frame; he was wearing a sparkling blue earring.

-When did _you_ get here?- Laurent asked, leaving his bags right over the door so that Auguste could take them inside.

Auguste huffed at him.

-Day before yesterday,- Nicaise answered, -Coach wanted us to get used to the place or something.-

Laurent smirked: -Did it work?-

Nicaise huffed, rolling his blue eyes: -Absolutely not.-

Laurent's smirk turned into a wide smile: -Do you want to come with me and take a look?-

Nicaise grinned with a glint in his eyes: -I thought you just wanted to shower and sleep, old man.-

-Don't get lost,- Auguste chimed in from the bathroom, which was pretty much all the permission they needed.

Laurent said: -Race you,- but Nicaise was three steps ahead of him already.

  


*

  


Damen fell on the bed with a soft ‘thump’. Thankfully, the springs did not squeak, which was basically everything he required of a bed – he hated beds that creaked and screeched every time you so much as moved on them.

Nikandros was already exploring his mini-bar: -Are you satisfied? You can do the nastiest things in the world there and there'll be no noises to turn you off.-

An amused smirk appeared on Damen’s lips as he leaned back on his hands, observing Nikandros while he collected the tiny liquor bottles from inside the mini-fridge to put them in a plastic bag.

-Why are you throwing away my alcohol?-

Nikandros just kept going. -Because I don’t want you to get drunk alone. It’s sad and degrading.-

- _Degrading_. You are using your grown up words! Good job, Nik.-

Nikandros turned on his heels and placed his elbows on his knees, giving him what Damen simply called “the look”. It was a strange sort of glare, a mixture of apprehension and paternal care that always made him feel like a ten year old who had done something bad which does not deserve punishment as much, but more of a psychological help.

-I’m fine, Nikandros.- he muttered, sobering up; he rolled his eyes and let his hands slip on the duvet, until he found himself looking at the white ceiling -I’m fine.- he repeated.

-I know you are. I still like it better when I'm the one getting drunk with you.- he declared, adamantly.

Damen crossed his arms, listening to Nikandros’ soft steps on the carpeted floor. One second after, he was near the nightstand and he was opening a drawer.

-You know that they don’t put alcohol in bedside tables, right? It would taste awful, since it’s like a hundred degrees outside, despite the air conditioning.-

He could not dodge the light punch that Nikandros lay on his forehead.

-Hey! Are you trying to compromise me?- Damen sat up with an offended look. Nikandros simply ignored him.

-I was just checking if the rumors are true.-

-What rumors could you ever check in _my_ nightstand?-

Suddenly, a rainfall of multi-coloured, square shaped packages fell on Damen lap. He looked down and took one between his index and middle finger: -Is this an indecent proposal? I am flattered.-

Nikandros sat beside him and took one himself: -In your dreams. It’s not a legend then.-

-What? That Olympians have tons of sex? Because I can assure you, as an Olympian…-

Nikandros bumped Damen's shoulder with his own, rolling his eyes: -Shut up, jackass. You haven’t slept with anyone since you have been named an Olympian, so stop bragging if you don’t want me to hit you again.-

Damen snorted and examined the condom: -Do you think that, as Europeans, we are allowed to use only the blue ones? Like the European circle on the Olympic flag?-

Nikandros hit him.

-Ouch! I wasn’t even bragging!-

Nikandros glared at him: -I don’t really need a reason to hit you, Damianos.-

  


*

  


-Remind me again how you convinced me to come to this thing, because I'm pretty sure you're just making it up.-

Auguste shrugged, shouldering his way through the thick, loud crowd: -It was three a.m. and you wanted ice-cream,- he had to shout in order to be heard, which, in Laurent's opinion, should have been reason enough to leave, -You said if I actually went and bought you ice-cream I could choose a party and you'd have to go,- he turned with a broad, obnoxious grin: -I think I played it pretty well.-

Laurent glared at him – admittedly, it was their most frequent way to communicate.

-I think I'm going to have _lots_ of fun,- said Nicaise, close enough to Laurent's ear that he didn't have to shout, and he would've made it to the bar in a couple of seconds – if it hadn't been for Laurent's fingers gripping his wrist: -Oh, _no_ you won't. _You_ will be miserable with _me_.-

-Oh, _come on_ ,- Nicaise rolled his eyes, looking so young Laurent chuckled: -You're not old enough to drink, anyway.-

Nicaise looked affronted: -That's _bullshit_ ,- he protested, -I'm old enough to be at the Olympics, I'm old enough to drink a god-damn beer.-, he snatched his wrist away and his blue earring caught the purple light that was barely illuminating the room; Laurent huffed but let him go, figuring he would just complain long enough that Auguste wouldn't have any other choice but to let him go – which, of course, would have been a lot easier if Auguste hadn't disappeared in the crowd without Laurent noticing it.

Laurent muttered insults while he tried standing on his tiptoes to catch a glint of his brother's blond hair, but it was a lost cause: the unofficial welcome-to-the-Olympics party had been organized in one of the buildings the athletes were staying at, not unlike the one Laurent's; specifically, it was being held on the ground floor, and there wasn't nearly enough room for everyone – there was plenty of alcohol, though. And plenty of condoms, if Wikipedia and Auguste were to be trusted.

Either way, he couldn't see past most of the athletes' shoulders, let alone their _heads_ – he wasn't short, _thank you very much._ Most of those athletes were _animals_. He scrunched up his nose when three more guys arrived at the party shouting in a language he couldn't understand: _loud animals._

He turned on his heel and started shouldering his way back to the entrance, figuring he would just leave and Auguste would learn not to leave him alone in a sea of sweaty, moving people next time, when he realized his brother had already thought of that: he knew Laurent wouldn't leave Nicaise there without any kind of supervision, because _God knows_ what the kid would get into if left to his own devices.

(He wouldn't actually get into any trouble and they all knew it, but Laurent was a _tad_ overprotective when it came to Nicaise for some sort of misplaced older-brother kind of feeling and Auguste knew it, _damn it._ )

He basically growled in frustration, not that anyone would hear him, and stalked as far away from the bar as possible, hoping the crowd would be less thick the closer to the walls he got – not really, but he'd take what he could get.

He stood with his back to the wall and glared at the room. Because that was the most mature thing he could do.

-Oh god, I bet he's French. Or _English_.-

Laurent caught himself just before he could lift his head, registering just in time that those words hadn't been spoken in French – therefore, he probably wasn't supposed to understand them. He simply bent his head a little bit to the right, pretending to be looking for someone in the crowd, just to make sure that they were talking about him.

Yup, they were.

What a delight.

-Those people wouldn't recognize fun if it punched them in the face.-

Laurent narrowed his eyes and turned his head completely towards the guy who'd been speaking – he was tall and his shoulders were incredibly broad, clearly someone who worked with weights and punches, but Laurent simply smirked at him and was rewarded by the startled expression on the guy's face.

-Are you flirting or starting a fight?- Nicaise suddenly appeared by his side, a sparkling pink drink in his hand and blue eyes fixed on the Greek guy who clearly thought languages were a mystery to everyone.

Laurent snorted and turned his once again bored gaze on Nicaise: - _Flirting_ with _him_? _Please_.-

Nicaise shrugged, his gaze moving a bit to the right, clearly enjoying the way he was making the two guys basically squirm in embarrassment: -I don't know,- he drawled, slowly, -His friend isn't so bad.-

Laurent didn't even bother looking at the guy and switched to Greek raising his voice: -I have no interest in people who aren't smart enough to figure out that languages can actually be _taught_ and _learned_ and, therefore, you should probably make sure you're out of earshot when you _insult_ someone.-

The two guys went perfectly still. Nicaise muttered: -Showoff,- and Laurent smirked.

The guy Nicaise was talking about took a hesitant step forward, elbowing his friend into moving with him: -I'm sorry,- he said, almost bashfully, which was kind of a ridiculous look on him: he was even taller than his friend, all rippling muscles barely contained in his t-shirt and dark skin painted blue by the lights. -Nikandros is an idiot.-

Laurent turned his head slightly towards Nicaise: -Clearly,- he said, lightly, in French, and Nicaise coughed to cover his laughter.

The guy scowled: -You know,- he said, French flowing perfectly from his lips, -You should probably take your own advice,- he didn't say _and shove it up your ass_ but it was a near thing. Laurent could tell.

Nicaise didn't even bother trying to hide his laughter.

Laurent felt himself blush and rolled his eyes; he decided that was probably enough for one evening: - _Fine_ , whatever. My mistake.-, he pushed himself away from the wall and pointed at Nicaise: -You come back to the hotel in two hours. Tell my brother he owes me thirty minutes of my life I will never get back,- he turned towards the Greek guy and felt suddenly flustered. He hated people who outsmarted him without even meaning to. -You're just ridiculous,- he simply said. Not that he'd meant to actually say it.

The guy smiled – an actual, genuine smile, as if they hadn't been bickering since the first moment they'd met. _Literally_. -I've been told,- he said.

Lauren rolled his eyes and got _the hell_ out of there before his brain could decide it'd be a nice idea to embarrass him further.

*

Damen was slowly sipping from a weird shaped glass, looking around, when the boy approached him. Nikandros was blabbering about this girl who'd refused to dance with him and he was vaguely listening, not really interested.

-Are you two a two for one deal?-

Damen blinked and lifted his eyebrows, recognizing the blue pendant earring that the boy was wearing. He was the one who'd been with the French guy.

-Beg your pardon?- he asked cautiously.

He looked dangerous. A strange kind of dangerous. And how could a kid look that viciously dangerous, anyway?

The boy hopped on the stool next to him, which was miraculously empty – hadn't there been a redhead swimmer there until three seconds before? (Viciously dangerous.) – and he leaned in their direction: -I was wondering…- he articulated distinctively, English flawing a little bit weirdly from his lips, -if I have to take the both of you even if I want just one. -

Damen’s jaw dropped.

-Which one of you is in the closet? Both of you, I bet. It doesn’t matter, it’s not like I want to marry either.- he winked and Damen saw Nikandros gulp down his cachaça with no effort at all. He wasn’t used to seeing Nikandros embarrassed.

-I know, I know,- the boy went on, his pendant swinging as a hypnotizing pendulum in front of their eyes -You are straight, women-only machos. But you kno- -

And in that moment, Nikandros burst into uncontrollable giggles.

-Was it funny?- the boy didn’t look viciously dangerous anymore – for a second he looked just like a boy, and a pretty lost one at that, as a matter of fact. It was probably because his shining earring wasn’t catching the moving lights of the bar anymore.

Damen rolled his eyes and nudged Nikandros' hip with his elbow: -Shut up.-

-Sorry. Sorry.- he said, his eyes still shining with amusement -I’m a straight macho. He is a swinging-both-ways kind of macho.-

The boy lifted his eyebrows: -All of them are.-

Damen cleared his throat. He had to stop that conversation from happening as soon as possible: -Are you even legal?- he blurted.

-Are we at the personal questions already?-

Damen passed a hand on his forehead: well, since Nikandros wasn’t doing anything to stop all of that, it was probably him who was the embarrassed one.

-Listen, kid…-

-There is no deal.- Nikandros interrupted him with a smirk -And not because he is straight – he is not, believe me, I have seen things that nobody should see – but because I am pretty sure that while he was pretending to listen to my whining about a Spanish girl who ditched me on the dance floor, he was thinking about that blond sassy stuck up babysitter you had with you earlier. Blond being the key word.-

That was the reason why he and Nikandros should have kept their relationship strictly professional. That was why he should have never accepted to go to that damn party with him. Why on Earth had he thought it could be a good idea? He was pretty much reconsidering all his life choices.

-Thank you, Nikandros.- he growled, actually considering the option of praying for a chasm to open suddenly and swallow him entirely.

-What? He was probably a walking wet dream for you!-

Damen suddenly stood up, he could feel his cheeks becoming red: -Enough!-

-That’s interesting.-

Both of them turned towards the boy, who was watching them with a sly smile painted on his thin lips.

Oh no, he was viciously dangerous again.

One second after he had his feet on the ground again, and in the blink of an eye he disappeared in the crowd.

Damen distinctly felt that he was probably going to dive head-first in a lot of trouble.

He gulped down his cachaça.

  


*

-Oh my god,- Auguste complained, burying his head under his pillow with a groan, -Switch off the sun.-

Laurent chuckled silently, picking up a bottle of water on his way out.

-See you later, Gus.- Auguste groaned again - his _later, love you_ groan. Laurent was quite familiar with it since he was an early riser and his brother definitely wasn't.

The door closed behind him with a soft _click_ and Laurent took a deep breath, his blood pumping through his veins.

(He was grinning so hard he could barely contain it, happiness bubbling inside his chest.)

  


*

  


He couldn't quite shake the grin off his face even while he was stretching on the beach, sighing in relief while his muscles worked, but he was mostly alone, so he let himself grin like an idiot.

Not that the other athletes he'd met were handling the whole _we-are-at-the-Olympics_ thing much better. The atmosphere inside the Village was basically shimmering with fear and excitement and Laurent found himself drowning in it despite his best efforts - which weren't really his _best_ efforts because a part of him wanted to be drawn to the absolute _mess_ that was a village of athletes whose only occupation was to wait for the chance of a lifetime.

In short, he was probably becoming an adrenaline junkie.

When he felt his muscles were relaxed enough he took a deep breath and started running.

  


*

  


It was forty-five minutes before he was coming back - he wanted to start his routine exercises by seven and he'd have to spend at least fifteen minutes waking Auguste up.

-Hey! French guy!-

Laurent instinctively turned his head towards the voice and immediately regretted it once he saw it belonged to the Greek guy - _Damen_ , he'd always been way too good with names - from the party.

He raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

Damen rolled his eyes, huffing a chuckle: -Fine, be like that.- He was stretching, clearly getting ready for a long run; a ridiculously pink headband was peeking out from his dark curls.

Laurent just huffed, keeping his mouth resolutely shut while he slowed down to a walk.

-Fine,- Damen called after him while Laurent kept walking away, -See you around ... -, he stopped, struggling for a second, - _Claude_ \- he said, extremely self-satisfied.

Laurent rolled his eyes.

*

Nikandros knew that Damen did not particularly enjoy running, especially without music: he always said it was boring, it was not challenging and it was not stress-relieving. Nonetheless, both of them were dramatically aware that he had to do it. So, every morning, whether he was hangover, whether he sincerely would have preferred to hit his knee with a hammer over and over again, whether they were at home in Athens or on the other side of the world, Damen went for a run.

However, that was the third day in a row in which Damen had risen before the sun and had gone for a run without saying a word, with a silly smile on his face and a weirdly cheerful expression.

-Good day, Nikandros!- he twittered happily, slamming the door behind him with his natural grace.

 _Weird_.

  


*

  


He never arrived first, it did not matter how early he set his alarm. Every time he stepped foot on the white, immaculate sand, the French guy was already there, stretching his insanely lithe muscles in the pale light of the morning.

(It was like a vision, a siren or a sea-god ready to bathe in the vast and profound Ocean.)

He was pale like the moon, his blond hair catching every glare of light, every ray as soon as it appeared on the horizon. Damen always felt like one of those ancient mortals the moment before they were doomed to terrible fates for having seen what they were forbid to see: Semele, hit by the lightning of Zeus, Tiresias, blinded by Athena, Actaeon, transformed in a deer and then eaten alive by dogs.

Damen blinked and passed a hand through his hair: he was such a drama queen.

Nevertheless, the beautiful man in front of him seemed unattainable and, usually, nothing was for him; that was probably what had captured him.

-Please, at least be a little less obvious with the stalking.-

He was right in front of him. With his blue eyes and his ethereal presence and everything.

 _Think_ , Damen.

-There is really no way I could be. We are alone on an enormous beach and I am six feet tall.-

He raised an eyebrow.

Damen felt instantly hot.

He turned around and started running without saying another word.

-Tell me your name!- he pleaded, a smile curving his lips upwards.

The guy turned his head over his shoulder: -In your dreams!-

Oh, most definitely.

  


*

  


-You know you could just look up the list of French athletes online, right? There are photographs.-

Damen scoffed and with his last bit of strength he positioned the huge weight back in its place: -And where is the fun in that?-

Nikandros added another couple of pounds to the machinery and Damen groaned: -You are very wrong if you think I will start lifting elephants, Nikandros.-

-Oh, but you will.-

-I was invited to a party.-

-Sure you were.-

-I want to go.-

-First, finish your exercises, then, think about your penis.-

Damen jumped up, ignoring Nikandros’ infamous glare: -I need a distraction.-

-Because a French guy has not thrown himself into your arms on a Brasilian beach?-

Honestly, it sounded pretty pathetic, said like that, and Damen, deep down, knew that there must have been a little more charming explanation to his frustration. He was not a sixteen year old, right? Why on Earth did Nikandros manage to make him feel that way every time he opened his mouth?

-I will catch up tomorrow, I promise.- he said, putting his hand on Nikandros’ shoulder and squeezing it for a couple of seconds.

He kept glaring for all the time necessary to gather up the bottle of water and the towel from the bar nearby.

-Stop glaring at me. Next week I will be an angel.- he muttered, avoiding his friend’s dark eyes. He had this ability to make him feel small. It was something Damen was not really comfortable with, even after all the years of friendship and brotherhood. He did not need someone else to make him feel that way. Kastor was enough. Had been enough.

Damen shrugged, cancelling the distressing thought in the blink of an eye.

He just needed a distraction.

  


*

  


The distraction was blonde, Canadian and a gymnast.

She only spoke French.

  


*

  


The girl’s hair were like a waterfall on the pillow, they just slipped everywhere. Damen twisted a lock between his index and middle finger, watching her sleep. His head hurt, but not as much as he would have thought.

~~(Hoped.)~~

Her skin was pale and soft and she had some freckles on her shoulders.

He wondered if the man he met every morning on the beach had freckles. He couldn’t say, he always wore white t-shirts, even more candid than his skin. Damen imagined kissing those freckles, those shoulders. He had muscled arms, his shoulders must have been a work of art. He sighed, abandoning himself on the bed, letting the girl’s hair go. Even the ceiling was white, with thin golden decorations around the chandelier. He closed his eyes thinking about his morning exercises: the way his feet sunk in the sand, the wrinkling of the fabric of his t-shirt while he stretched his arms towards the sky. He crumpled the linen through his fingers, imagining that back without the t-shirt, the way in which his skin would have flexed, the muscles behind. He suppressed a groan when he noticed where these thoughts would have led him.

He licked his lips.

He imagined taking off that t-shirt himself, then his white shorts, scratching lightly those thighs while he made them fall and sink in the sand.

Damen could see everything behind his eyelids, like a terribly vivid dream.

The sheets ruffled, beside him.

- _Bonjou– oh_ .  _Bonjour à la fois_ .-

He was so screwed.

*

-Are you _smiling_?-

Laurent felt the strain in his cheeks and immediately relaxed the muscles in his face: -Nope.-

Auguste eyed him suspiciously: -You were smiling.-

Laurent finished tying his shoes and sat up: -You are asleep.-

Auguste frowned: -Who smiles before going for a forty-five minutes long run?-

Laurent just looked at him for a moment: -I'm actually upset at how slow your brain is when you wake up.-

Auguste just sort of _hmphed_. -You're trying to distract me with insults. It's not working.-

-Well,- Laurent stood up, grabbing his water bottle, -I have to go, so, - he patted Auguste's leg, -Technically, it worked.-

*

-You're early,- he said, because, yeah, _Damen,_ the Greek guy, _whatever_ , was _really_ early. They usually met for a second when Laurent was done with his run and Damen was just about to begin, but today it looked like they were going for a run _together_.

Which, _huh._

Laurent was kind of deciding if he had the time and the energy to hate Damen a little bit more for arriving first.

He probably didn't, since he was on a beach in Brazil to be a part of the most important sports event to ever exist.

Damen shrugged. He was wearing his ridiculously pink headband. -Felt like waking up early today,- he said, using a weird mix of French and Greek because he didn't know the French word for _waking up._ He was smirking.

Laurent brushed past him: -It's _je me ré_ _veille.-_

Damen kept smirking: -You're just pissed because I was here before you.-

Laurent reached past his thigh to grab his ankle and stretch: -It's sad that you think your existence somehow influences my mood.-

Damen seemed unbothered: -It's sad that you keep pretending you don't love my company.-

-You should probably start running,- Laurent said, -It'll be awhile before I'm done.-

Damen shrugged – the guy was probably unfazeable. -I don't mind waiting. Plus, I don't have any problem admitting that I prefer running with you rather than by myself.-

Laurent scoffed: -No surprise there.-, and Damen kicked sand at him.

*

Damen was listening to Katy Perry and Laurent could hear it from a four feet distance.

-Seriously?-

Damen raised his eyebrows questioningly.

-Katy Perry?-

-If you have something against Katy Perry I'm going to have to draw a line.-

-Then I _definitely_ have something against Katy Perry.-

Damen just shook his head. He was smiling.

*

-So, I was thinking.-

Damen sounded a little out of breath and his headband was having a hard time taming his curls: -I don't even know which sport you're competing in.-

Laurent raised his eyebrows, surprised: -You're actually right.-

Damen looked weirdly satisfied with himself: -Since you're so shy, I'll go first,- he ignored Laurent's blatantly sarcastic look, -I'm Damianos Akielou and I'm competing in boxing.-

Laurent just burst out laughing.

Damen looked at him, half confused and half offended.

-Seriously?- Laurent asked, recomposing, - _That's_ the strategy you're going for?-, he shook his head, slowing down to a walk for the last few meters: -I'm competing in fencing.-

Damen groaned: -Oh, _come on._ I'm out of ideas!-

Laurent smirked, shaking his head. -Try giving up.-

Damen was unusually silent for a second: -You do know I'll stop if you actually want me to, right?-

He slipped into Greek probably without realising it.

Laurent looked at him for a moment: his skin was covered in a thin layer of sweat and his eyes were dark and he was squinting against the sun. He was ridiculous. -Yeah, I know.-

He was walking away from the beach when he just kind of gave up – it was okay, it wasn't like it meant anything, and, besides, he didn't really have a reason not to tell him, it was just-it'd just been this silly thing, he wasn't risking anything. It was alright. He still had everything under control. -Hey, Damianos! It's Laurent.-

*

Laurent.

Laurent. Lau-rent. La-u-rent.  _Laurent_ .

Damen kept repeating that name in his head like he was rehearsing it. He did not dare saying it out loud, he didn’t want Nikandros mocking him and telling him that he had gone crazy about some guy he barely new.

 _Nevertheless_.

Laurent was a wonderful name. It had the same sound of flowing water; when Damen pronounced it – strictly in his head – he kept imagining a quiet stream ending up in a clearing in the woods.

Okay.

That was cheesy even for his mind.

It was a total casualty that he arrived in front of the gym where the French fencing team was training. Totally casual.

Damen pushed the door and showed the doorman his ID. The man seemed puzzled, but he let him in anyway. The room was quite huge. A lot of different teams were training on a bunch of platforms, most of them in full equipment.

Laurent’s fair hair immediately caught his attention: he was competing without the mask with the man who was clearly his trainer. Some locks kept felling in front of his eyes, but he didn’t seem to be bothered by them. He kept attacking and hitting with his foil like it was the easiest job in the world. He was beautiful. His wrist shifted at an incredible speed and his legs – slightly bended – moved along the platform with an elegance and a grace that Damen had never seen in his entire life on anyone. It looked like a dance. It looked like ballet. It looked like he was moving up and down a rope stretched on the verge of an abyss. Nothing could make anyone think that this was something difficult. He made it seem so easy. Damen kept looking at him, hypnotised, until Laurent hit his trainer’s chest with extreme precision. If it had been a real swordfight, he would have been pierced through the heart.

Without even realising it, Damen started clapping: -That was impressive.-

Laurent turned towards him and for a brief moment Damen saw surprise in his glance.

-Damianos.- he said -My personal stalker. I didn’t expect to see you so soon. Did you spend your whole night looking through the catalogue of every French-speaking person in the Olympics?-

Damen smirked: -Indeed I did.-

Laurent and his trainer both jumped off the platform instead of using the steps and the latter took off his mask one second later. Damen blinked: they were so similar they must be...

-Damianos, this is Auguste, my brother. Brother, Damianos, my fangirl.-

Damen threw an appreciative look to him: he was older, probably around the same age as Nikandros and himself, and as attractive as his little brother. They had the same blond hair and blue eyes, but Auguste’s jawline was chiselled and his nose was straighter. He didn’t look typically French-like like Laurent: if Damen hadn't known better, he would have said he was Swedish or Finnish.

-Nice to meet you, Auguste. It’s Damen.- he said with a charming smile.

Laurent crossed his arms and rolled his eyes, and Damen smirked.

-My pleasure, Damen.- replied Auguste, clearly aware of his brother’s annoyance.

-So, what are you doing here, Damianos?- asked Laurent, taking off one of his gloves -Don’t you have work to do? Tomorrow is the big day.-

-It looks that someone else did his homework too.-

Damen’s smile broadened: Laurent must have looked him up too, if he knew when he was going to compete.

Auguste sniggered at his brother’s blush and disappeared making up an excuse.

-I just assumed.- Laurent lifted his chin -Almost everyone starts tomorrow.-

Damen wetted his lips: -So, tonight is our last free night. How are you going to spend it?-

Laurent seemed taken off guard: -I’ll… just stay in, of course. It’s the night before the competition. I have my first round at 2 pm.-

-Sneak out with me.- Damen blurted it out before he managed to stop himself. He didn’t know why he'd gone there, why he'd looked Laurent up right after discovering his name, why he'd decided to bail on Nikandros and go look for him, why he was proposing him something that dangerous. He didn’t know any of those things; but Laurent’s eyes widened and his mouth curved around a surprised “o”, and in that precise moment Damen just felt damn proud to have startled someone who seemed so controlled and inscrutable.

-You are crazy.- he said after a second and tried to surpass him.

Damen stopped him, touching his shoulder, without tightening his grip.

-Eight pm. On the beach where we meet every morning. I’ll be there.-

Laurent looked in his eyes and hesitated.

-And you’ll be alone.- he answered, but he sounded unsure to his own ears.

*

-Don't even _try_ ,- Auguste caught up to him in a matter of seconds and Laurent tried not to let out a frustrated growl. Sometimes he forgot his brother was in shape as much as he was.

-So. Care to tell me who's the giant who's stalking you?-

Laurent kept walking. Fast. -Not really.-

-Why are you running, little brother? It isn't like you.-

Laurent stopped abruptly: -I'm not running.-

Auguste rolled his eyes: -You are,- he said, very matter-of-fact, -You usually talk your way out of things, but with this one you're just trying to out-run me. Which is pretty sad.-

Laurent started walking again: -Whatever. It doesn't matter.-

Auguste hummed, clearly unconvinced: -So, I guess you're not going to meet _Damen_.-, he pronounced the name with a French accent and Laurent automatically corrected him, -Damen-, with a strong accent on the _a_ , and then glared at his brother, who was smirking: -Stop distracting me. Stop with the mind games.-

Auguste spread his hands in a peaceful gesture: -Fine. Then _talk to me_.-

Laurent sighed. It was hot and he _really_ needed a shower and his muscles kind of ached.

-I _don't know_ , okay?- Laurent's cheeks were red out of frustration, and something in Auguste's bright eyes kind of softened: -He's not something I need right now.-

Auguste sighed, and it was a bit sad and a bit resigned: -He could be something you simply _want_. And he wants _you_. What's the hold up?-

-I'm pretty sure you should be talking me _out_ of having sex with a guy I barely know the night before the biggest moment of my career.-

-And _that's_ the Laurent I know,- Auguste sighed, -Talking his way out of everything.-

-I live to please,- Lauren said, deadpan.

-Just …- Auguste ran a hand through his hair, -You can let yourself have this, okay? That's all I'm saying and that's all I'm going to say.-

Laurent just said: -Fine,- surprised, bitter and a little bit helpless.

*

Damen was quite sure that Laurent would come.

He was quite sure, and not because he fancied himself as some kind of heartbreaker who could have anyone at his feet just by batting his eyelashes, but because he knew that Laurent would not back off from a challenge.

So yeah, his heart missed a beat when he saw him walking barefoot on the sand, a pair of boat shoes dangling from his right hand, but it was just because Laurent looked dashingly handsome.

Which was how he greeted him.

He rolled his eyes.

Damen laughed and he was pretty sure Laurent smiled as well.

They walked in silence to a patio nearby. There were tables with white tablecloths on scattered on the wooden floor; the immaculate hems were dancing, caressed by the mild wind, candles with tremulous flames were the only things keeping the fabric in place.

When they sat, Laurent placed his chin on the palm of his left hand, his elbow on the table, and looked at him with his piercing blue eyes: -You are such a cliché.-

Damen smiled, because he expected it. What he didn’t expect was the relaxed posture of Laurent, the way he leaned on his left harm, the loose curve of his shoulders, the quiet smile on his lips, just slightly turned up, like the distracted brush stroke of a very tired painter. It befitted him.

-I may be. But you came.-

-I came. Believe me, I am surprised myself.-

-Oh, I believe you. I didn’t think it would have been so simple to win you over.-

Laurent lifted his eyebrows and Damen smirked, knowing that he was adventuring himself in a very dangerous path, seeking a verbal combat with someone like Laurent. He looked like someone who always knew not only what to say, but what you would say too. _He must be an amazing chess player._

-What makes you think you won me over?- his eyes sparkled, and Damen was hypnotised.

-You came, I must be at least a little bit interesting.-

Laurent moved, taking the napkin and laying it on his thighs: -Maybe I am just a fan of free food.-

Damen opened the menu: -Please, choose the most expensive dish. Spending time with you is worth it.-

Laurent’s eyebrows almost disappeared behind his hair: -I can’t believe you are this cheesy. I can’t honestly understand why anyone would go on a date with you.-

-You are.- he smirked, -On a date with me.-

-I must be out of my mind.-

-Or you really like my sense of humor.-

*

Laurent wasn't even trying, honestly.

He'd pulled his hair up in a messy bun and he was wearing yoga pants, and Auguste had smirked at him while his eyebrows climbed their way through his hair. Laurent had thrown an empty bottle at his face.

He wasn't really talking because Damen seemed to be able to carry the conversation pretty much on his own, and he was tasting some pretty amazing Brazilian food. Not the _worst_ night of his life. Which is why, when Damen asked: -So, why fencing?-, Laurent was caught completely off guard and he almost chocked on a gulp of water.

He swallowed carefully, straightening his shoulders a bit: -No specific reason. You?-

Damen just looked at him for a moment, wrapping his fingers around his glass, watched him almost cautiously in a way that made Laurent feel the need to look away. -You don't really strike me as the type to do something just for the fun of it,- he said, but it was light in a way that Laurent could appreciate, so he just shrugged, said: -I'm full of surprises,-, and Damen smiled and said: -I bet,- with a glint in his eyes.

-So, why boxing?- asked Laurent, mimicking him, and while he watched Damen take a sip of wine before answering, he actually noticed that it was the first real question he'd asked him, the first real question that would allow him to get to know Damen better.

-My brother boxed. I uhm… always had this younger brother syndrome. You know, the one where your big brother is your whole world and you want to be totally like him?-

Laurent smiled at Damen’s almost nostalgic expression, his hands were moving and making gestures, as if in doing so he could express himself better. His hands were big, his nails short and cured; a part of Laurent wanted to touch them, see how they would fit in his.

-I know the feeling.- he said, because Damen seemed to be waiting for an answer.

-Yeah, right, you have an older brother too.- he nodded and his curls bounced slightly -So, yes, Kastor boxed in high school, so I decided I was going to box too and… the rest is history, I guess.-

Damen hesitated after that, like maybe he wanted to add something; he looked like someone who wasn’t saying everything they wanted to. Laurent played with the edge of his silky napkin, waiting. He _wanted_ to know more. His heart started beating faster: how could he want to know something more? That guy, that date, weren’t important, they weren’t crucial, he was just out because Auguste asked him to go. He did not care why he was doing what he was doing and he didn’t want to tell him that he started fencing for the exact same reason. He didn’t want him to know that they were somewhat similar, that they had something in common, that there was some secret on both sides, that there was more than physical attraction. He didn’t want this strange, Greek guy to know him. He didn’t want Damen to _like_ him.

_(Or did he?)_

-It must be if you are here.- he found himself saying, streams of confusion rushing in his head -And tell me, how did you learn French?-

Damen smiled and suddenly all the melancholy disappeared from his eyes, a mischievous glimpse in his eyes.

He started talking and Laurent… Laurent _cared_.

*

Damen was walking with a hand shoved in his trousers' pocket and the other holding his shoes.

He was kicking sand Laurent’s way with every step, and Laurent kept glaring at him hoping he would take a hint.

He wouldn’t. -Are you _five_?-, he asked, shaking his hand because Damen, somehow, had managed to get wet sand between his fingers.

Damen grinned proudly: -Four and a half.-

Laurent rolled his eyes and Damen huffed: -You can quit the act, you know. You wouldn’t have come if you didn’t want to, so.-, he shrugged.

Laurent narrowed his eyes at him: -I think we’ve already been over the fact that I like free food.-

Damen kept grinning and Laurent kind of wanted to punch him (although, maybe that wasn’t such a good idea since Damen was an Olympic boxer.)

-Then why are you still walking with me?-

Laurent looked at him with utter disbelief: -We’re going in the same – No, you know what? For once, you’re absolutely right.-

He picked up the pace and started moving away from the water, but Damen was faster. In two strides he'd reached him to grab him by his hips, basically lifting him from the sand.

Laurent yelled in surprise: -Are you _out of your mind_? What do you think you are doing? Put me _down_!- but Damen threw him over his shoulder like he was weightless and kept walking towards the sea.

  


-Damianos! I command you...-

  


Damen never got to know what Laurent was going to command him, because with a swift movement he hurled him in the water.

  


One second later, Laurent resurfaced, mouth agape in the attempt to breathe. When he regained some kind of composure, he raised his eyes towards Damen: they were as blue-gray as a storm.

  


_Oh-oh._

  


-You _jerk_ ,- Laurent spluttered, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes; Damen just stood there, looking vaguely like a deer caught in headlights, like he was just processing what he'd actually done. -It’s _cold_.-

  


Damen was biting his lip.

  


-Don’t you _dare_ ,- Laurent warned him, gasping against the cold climbing up his back. Damn breeze. -Don’t you _dare_ laugh, you – you rude, inappropriate -- -

  


Damen jumped into the water with a huge splash.

  


-There,- he said, resurfacing, -Now we’re both wet.-

  


His curls were glistening and his eyes were closed against the salty water.

  


Laurent gaped: -Oh my god, you _are_ an idiot!-

  


Damen opened his arms: -What? We are! We are even. So stop plotting creepy revenges.-

  


If Laurent had been in a comic book, smoke would have started coming out from his hears. He submerged his arms up to his elbows and then threw a huge amount of water towards him.

  


Damen gaped: -This isn't fair!- he screeched, before jumping towards his sworn enemy. They started running in the water, trying to catch and run from each other at the same time.

  


Laurent managed to push Damen's head under the water - he didn't know _how_ he did it, since Damen was – _Damen_ , and for a second he wondered if Damen had let him win.

  


He took a step back. He didn't _really_ want to drown him and he was _freezing_.

  


Damen came back up rubbing his eyes with his hands balled up: -Okay, this is _cold_.-

  


Laurent raised his eyebrows: - _Really_?-, he asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

  


Damen shrugged and little drops of water flew in every direction. He looked like a drenched Labrador.

  


-Let's get out of here.-

  


They walked out of the water, their clothes glued to their bodies. Damen tried not to stare too much, but even at the faint light that was coming from the patios on the beach, he managed to see _a lot_.

  


-Stop staring, creep.- growled Laurent, trying to keep his teeth from chattering, going on without looking back.

  


Damen grinned and followed him with his eyes, before starting to physically follow him. He reached him without any problems.

  


-I live closer.- he said, matter-of-fact, and Laurent turned around, startled: -God, I did not hear you creeping on me like that. Giant animal.-

  


Damen chuckled: -You are serving me lame jokes on a silver platter. Come on, I don't want you to catch a cold before tomorrow or I will hear from your lawyers until we are seventy.- he opened the small wooden gate that linked the beach to the road and moved aside to let Laurent through.

  


-Do you really believe I will come to your place?-

  


-You are drenched.-

  


-So what?-

  


Damen snorted: -So you can dry yourself. Take a shower. Something. I promise I will be a gentleman.-

  


Laurent crossed his arms: -That doesn't reassure me.-

  


Damen crossed his arms.

  


Laurent glared.

  


-Don't be a jerk,- Damen said, and, yeah, okay, he was being a bit of a jerk. Whatever.

  


He rolled his eyes: -Fine.-, he gestured with his hand, -Lead the way.-

  


He was shaking and Damen said: -You French people lack warmth.-

  


-I'm going to drown you,- Laurent warned.

  


Damen chuckled and turned the corner, searching in his wet pockets for the keys.

  


The hall of the hotel was full of athletes and almost nobody noticed them. They passed along the bar to reach the elevators and Laurent glanced around, wondering if they'd taken political factors into consideration when they'd decided how to arrange the different teams from the different countries in the hotels, when he noticed Damen's friend - Nikandros, who was his coach too, Laurent remembered. Damen seemed to be very fond of him - sitting at the bar, sipping a coke while fumbling with his phone.

  


_Huh_.

  


They'd reached the elevator's doors, which opened with a soft _ding_.

  


-So,- Laurent said, leaning casually against the wall, -If you're not planning on sleeping with me, what is your _room-mate_ doing at the bar?-

  


Damen scratched the back of his neck, cursing the salt that was making his skin itch terribly, and managed to get a glance of the room before the elevator door closed: -Oh, Nikandros? Uhm, I don't know.- he answered, non-committal.

  


Laurent's eyes sparkled. For a moment, Damen was reminded of Nicaise, who looked so incredibly dangerous and young.

  


-You don't, huh?- Laurent pushed away from the wall, he got so close to Damen that he could smell the salt on his skin: -I guess you don't want to kiss me, then.-

  


(He wanted to _see_. He was suddenly way too curious about what Damen would do and maybe Auguste would have called him out on it because he was just waiting for Damen to decide for him too, because he didn't want to think that maybe he wanted to kiss Damen, but Auguste wasn't there - thank _god_ -, and Laurent refused to stop and think.)

  


-Why would I want to kiss you?- he murmured, his eyes fixed on his lips. Laurent was magnetic, and Damen felt his hands itch with desire: he wanted to grab him and push him against the metallic walls of the elevator and take all the air from his lungs.

  


Laurent shrugged. His heart was beating in his throat.

  


-No reason,- he whispered. The doors opened and he took a step back. He was smirking.

  


(Damen wanted to kiss him.

  


Damen wanted to kiss him more than he'd ever wanted anything else. At least that's what it felt like.)

  


But he just said: -Let's take a shower,- gingerly, and he swiped the magnetic card through the reader.

  


Laurent raised his eyebrows: -Together?-

  


-You are being a jerk,- Damen informed him, -Again.-

  


-Sorry,- Laurent shrugged, -Can't help it. I call dibs on the shower.-

  


\- _My_ shower.-

  


-I'm a guest.-

  


Damen grinned: - You are a menace.-

  


Laurent laughed and Damen felt the sudden urge to give himself a high five.

  


(He'd made Laurent laugh.)

  


They looked at each other a bit differently, the atmosphere suddenly much cosier.

  


Laurent wet his lips: -So, I'll go. In. I might or might not forget the door open.-

  


He was one foot in the bathroom when Damen's fingers closed around his wrist: -Don't _forget_ it. Just ask.-

  


Laurent rolled his eyes.

  


-There's no sassing me out of this, Laurent,- Damen said, and Laurent instantly loved the way he'd pronounced his name, with a Greek accent and the _r_ rolled up in his tongue.

  


He kissed him.

  


Damen tightened his grip on his wrist and at the same time pushed the door so vehemently that it slammed against the wall, making the both of them giggle uncontrollably, without stopping the messy clash of their lips.

  


Shivers wrecked Laurent's body, both from the cold and the feeling of Damen's impossibly hot and hard body pressed against his own; he didn't know what to do with himself, had to focus on one thing at a time, on kissing Damen's full lips and biting and licking at the light stubble covering his jaw and digging his fingers in Damen's palms and pressing his leg between Damen's thighs because he _wanted_ despite himself, he _needed_ , and he thought _this is good_ because then he would be able to just forget and leave this behind.

  


Damen pulled away and smiled his cat-got-the-cream-smile: -Should we shower now, mister?-

  


Laurent just said: -I guess,- even though he was out of breath; they were still for a second, their eyes still hungry and searching, and then Damen's fingers slipped through Laurent's and reached the hem of his shirt.

  


-Can I?-, and Laurent nodded, energy thrumming beneath his skin.

  


Damen gulped, shifting his t-shirt and letting it fall on the floor. Laurent's chest was flawless: his skin was incredibly pale, his muscles defined, his belly moved faster with the nervousness of his breath. He caressed his chest with his index finger.

  


Another shiver ran through Laurent's back and Damen's finger disappeared.

  


When Laurent looked at him, Damen was losing his shirt, fast and efficient. -You're cold. It's probably better to skip the out-of-the-shower foreplay,- he answered Laurent's unspoken question.

  


He was down to his boxers.

  


-Aren't you the romantic,- Laurent said, deadpan.

  


Damen stopped, lifting his eyes and looking like a puppy in the middle of the highway: -I... am sorry. I actually thought I was being considerate.- he stepped closer: -I can be romantic.-

  


Laurent pressed the tips of his fingers against Damen's chest and left them there for a moment. He kind of felt like laughing, but not _at_ Damen.

  


He pushed him away.

  


-Finish undressing. That's romantic enough.-

  


-You think so?- Damen took Laurent's right hand in his and he lifted it towards his lips. He kissed his palm slowly, then he pressed his lips to his fingertips, one after the other.

  


-You just _need_ to prove me wrong at every turn, don't you?- Laurent's cheeks were flushed and his lips were swollen.

  


Damen smirked, Laurent felt it on his fingertips: -Damn right I do.-

  


One second and he was nipping at Laurent's fingertip, just the press of his teeth without any actual pressure.

  


Laurent's breath was fast and hard when Damen started caressing his skin with his tongue, sucking it gently between his lips without losing eye contact.

  


It was the most erotic thing he'd ever experienced.

  


Which was probably saying something.

  


Damen's mouth was hot and sure against his skin and Laurent felt the need to _do_ something and pressed the palm of his hand against Damen's cheek, dislodging his fingers from his lips, but he didn't really mind because they were kissing again, a clash of lips and teeth and tongue, and now Laurent could touch and feel Damen's torso beneath his hands, his muscles twitching under his skin.

Damen's fingers ran to Laurent's yoga pants, pushing them down while he kept asking _okay?_ on Laurent's lips.

  


And that was romance, or at least Laurent thought it was, because Damen kept asking him like he actually really cared. He looked in his eyes every time he pronounced the word.

  


_Do I look so vulnerable?_

  


A new fire started burning his guts, a desire to move on from that impasse, to show him that he wasn't some precious object made of glass, to tell him that he was not going to break.

  


_How does he know? How does he know I am?_

  


-Get in the shower.- he growled.

  


And, yeah, okay, it wasn't like Damen was going to say no to that, so he discarded his boxers and pulled the shower's curtain open and stepped inside, turning the hot water on.

  


Laurent followed him, and they barely fit but it was okay, the way Laurent felt Damen's now slick with water body against his own, the way he could feel his dick digging in his hip.

  


-God, you are hot.- Damen breathed out and Laurent couldn't suppress a nervous giggle. He actually didn't know if Damen was being serious or just...

  


-You have the pick up lines of a 16 year old high school jock, you know it?-

  


But Damen just shrugged, unbothered: -You _are_ hot,- he said, rubbing against Laurent's skin because, yep, that was a pretty clear evidence of Damen's honesty right there.

  


Water was beating down both of them and Laurent let his hair down, let himself be drown by the water's warmth and the feeling of Damen's lips kissing their way down his throat.

Laurent's skin was on fire and it wasn't because of the very hot water pouring down on it, leaving red streaks on his chest. Damen pressed his thumbs at the base of his back, making him shiver: -You are sensitive.-

  


-Just – - Laurent was having a hard time focusing on what Damen was saying because his lips kept brushing his skin and his nipples and he _was_ sensitive and his fingers kept digging in the dimples at the bottom of his spine and it had been so _long_ that Laurent almost couldn't remember how to simply focus on someone else's touch, so he just gripped Damen's back, elbows crossed behind his neck, fingers slipping on his wet skin.

  


He was a mess.

  


-Fair complexion. Thin skin,- he said, clipped, trying not to let his voice shake too much.

  


Damen simply hummed against his chest, nipping lightly at his skin, sucking some bruises that wouldn't be there in the morning – he seemed to like Laurent's fair skin well enough.

  


Damen's hands moved lower and instinctively Laurent pulled back.

  


Damen frowned: -Is everything okay?

  


Laurent licked his lips slowly, calculating and considering, he took a deep breath to slow down his heart.

  


He nodded: -You just startled me. Sorry.-

  


-Don't apologize,- Damen said, immediately, eyes still searching Laurent's face, -If there's something you don't like just tell me.-

  


Laurent nodded again, suddenly feeling a bit suffocated by the water and the steam and Damen, and that shower wasn't that big.

  


Damen took a step back. Well, he shuffled back as much as he could, and he picked a bottle of shampoo from the little plastic shelf inside the shower.

  


His hand made a _turn around_ motion and Laurent eyed him sceptically.

  


Damen huffed: -The mood is momentarily lost, okay? Might as well put the water to good use.-

  


-You washing my hair sounds a bit too _personal_. Intimate. Whatever.-

  


Damen looked at him as if he wanted to say _my hand was on your ass five seconds ago_. Which, fair point.

  


In the end he just said: -You don't have to follow the rules you don't make,- and Laurent snorted and his heart slowed down.

  


Damen nudged his calf: -Come on. I want to make a Mohawk with that beautiful blond hair.-

  


Laurent moved backward toward the corner: -You are not coming near my hair.-

  


Damen smirked and squeezed a huge amount of shampoo in his palm.

  


-Damianos...-

  


-I love how you say my name.-

  


Laurent rolled his eyes: -You are a dork.-

  


Damen chuckled and threw himself at him, hands open in the air.

  


-No!- Laurent exclaimed but Damen didn't dive hands first into Laurent's hair, he aimed at his sides, tickling him.

-Stop! Stop!-

  


Laurent was squeaking and laughing and then they were kissing. Laughing and kissing.

  


Laurent's heart missed a beat.

  


Water was still beating down on them and Damen's fingers and Laurent's sides were covered in soap and bubbles, and their lips were warm and wet and maybe that wasn't the mood they had lost, but it was so much better; Laurent's fingers were buried in Damen's hair and he felt like he couldn't touch enough of him.

  


Damen held his breath while Laurent slowly started tracing his jawline and then bit his pectoral, making his way towards his nipple.

  


He wanted to tell him that he didn't need to do that but at the same time Laurent seemed really focused in what he was doing and Damen didn't want to stop him.

  


-I want to try something.- said Laurent and Damen could only nod, while the sentence kept rewinding in his head.

  


Laurent smiled, quick and smart, and returned to Damen's dark skin; he listened for the quickening of Damen's breath, started paying attention to the way the muscles in his belly kept fluttering under his fingertips, and he quickly discovered that Damen liked having his nipples pinched and _loved_ closing his fingers around Laurent's slender wrist.

  


Not that he would use those informations in the future, but. Laurent liked keeping his mind occupied.

  


While his mouth was busy tracing Damen's happy trail, he brushed tentatively Damen's cock with his fingers, just a light pressure around the tip, and Damen's muscles _jumped_. Huh.

  


-Are you _nervous_ , Damianos?-

  


Damen closed his eyes for a second, trying to focus, because Laurent pronounced those words as if he was talking dirty to him and the thing was that it was probably the most arousing thing he had ever heard. He licked his lips trying to gather some control but the only thing that he was able to do was abandon himself against the glass, caressing gently Laurent's shoulder with his hand.

  


-Something like th- _at_ -, he managed to say, but his voice and his words broke when Laurent closed his fingers around his erection, sure and gripping slightly, and Damen's knees almost gave out.

  


-Warn a guy, would you?-, and Laurent chuckled and he looked so fascinated by Damen and the way his hips kept twitching trying to keep up with Laurent's speed, with the way he was moving his fist.

  


Damen closed his eyes and threw his head back, gripping Laurent's shoulder because it was probably the only thing keeping him up.

  


-Was it... was it this? The thing that ... ah... you wanted to try?-

  


Damen groaned and Laurent smiled viciously: -You don't even know.-

  


And one second later his mouth was around his cock.

  


Damen chocked on his own breath because _holy shit_ , Laurent's mouth was around his dick and it was warm and wet and sloppy and perfect and tight and Damen _just_ \- he felt on the edge, one breath away from falling, and his fingers were buried in Laurent's wet hair because he needed something to hold on to; he felt hot and completely out of control and he knew that the fact that it was _Laurent_ between his thighs, with his kissed-red lips stretched wide around his cock, was what was making him feel dizzy because it felt almost like a privilege, because it didn't look like Laurent would just do it for anyone and Damen could only stutter half-formed words and breathy _yeah, ohmygod_.

  


And a part of his brain wanted to tell him to stop, to move this to the bedroom, to be comfortable and horizontal and to make it so that he would be able to reciprocate but his whole body refused to surrender to reason. He just wanted Laurent right where he was, his hands grabbing Damen's hips like he was grasping the brink of the abyss, the heavy breathing coming from his nose, louder than the pouring water.

  


_Laurent_. He wanted to say. _Laurent_. Damen wanted to repeat his name because he was incredibly aware of the fact that it was Laurent between his legs, not anyone else. Not a blonde unknown man. It was Laurent, his mysterious man.

  


He was so _close_ and Laurent wasn't mysterious anymore, not in an obvious, a bit trying-too-hard way, he was just full of history and sharp corners and mirrors and smoke and he had his _mouth_ around Damen's _dick_ and he'd licked his thumb when a bit of sauce had ended up on it during dinner and _god god god_ , Damen just –

  


-Laurent,- he chocked, warning, every muscle in his body clenching and helping him be _still_ because Laurent looked at him, his eyes grey and shiny, and waited one second more before he was on his feet again, his lips crushing Damen's with a bitter taste on his tongue, his fingers tight where his mouth had been.

  


Damen grabbed his hair and pushed his tongue inside Laurent's mouth, tasting himself.

  


Laurent was blindly moving his hips against Damen's, groaning in his mouth, and Damen felt the urge to say something, to tell him that he was there, that everything was perfect.

  


-Laurent- he babbled.

  


But Laurent bit his lip, speeding the movements of his hand, and Damen just whined - not his proudest moment - because he was getting too close way too fast and the world just started spinning impossibly fast behind his eyelids, following the insane beating of his heart, and he came with his fingers buried in Laurent's hair, hot stripes painting Laurent's long fingers.

  


His head was spinning and his heart was beating so hard he could feel it in his ears: the blood pumping through his veins, the vibration of his chest. It was so intense he thought it would never stop.

  


He wanted to say Laurent's name again, but he was kissing him and his fingers were grasping Damen's hands, pressing them against the shower's glass.

  


_Let me touch you._ Damen screamed in his head and he wanted to say it out loud but Laurent's mouth was pressing so hard against his that the back of Damen's head hurt.

  


As soon as Laurent's lips moved on his neck, the words _I want to_ were out of his mouth in a jumbled mess of letters and Laurent just stopped and _fuck_ Damen had no idea what he'd done wrong but he really felt like punching himself because Laurent's eyes were suddenly guarded again and he just leaned back to turn off the water and said: -I think we've wasted enough water for the next three months,- almost coldly.

  


Damen let him get out of the shower without a word only because he was too busy thinking _how is he so collected when I can barely think_ , but he started moving when he heard Laurent grab a towel.

  


-Wait,- he honestly wished his legs didn't feel like jelly in that moment, -What did I do?-

  


Laurent just rolled his eyes -which, _rude_.

  


-Nothing. Stop worrying. I just don't need you to get me off.-

  


Damen blinked.

  


-What?- Damen asked, because he couldn't produce think of better or smarter. He felt like he was missing something.

  


-You ... Want to do it by yourself? Because I can leave.-

  


Laurent laughed, a weird half-frustrated, half-almost-endeared sound: -No, just. I don't.-

  


His muscles were tight across his back, his shoulders rigid.

  


-You don't like it?- Damen asked, cautious.

  


-No, it's not,- Laurent looked away, - _that_. I don't get off easily. That's. That's it.-

  


Damen looked at him. Laurent was still looking away. -So,- he asked, slowly, -You wouldn't have a problem with me trying?-

  


Laurent rolled his eyes: -No,- he said, but it felt like it wasn't all he wanted to say.

  


-But?- Damen insisted.

  


\- _But_ -, Laurent finally looked at him, if only to turn his glare on him, -You would probably have a problem with me _taking so long_ and I'd rather not waste everyone's time.-

  


Damen shrugged: -I have plenty of time ready to be wasted.-

  


Laurent hesitated and Damen took a step forward: -Let's go to bed. We have time.- he said gently, a soft smile on his lips.

  


Laurent lowered his gaze and looked like he really thinking about it. Like it was the hardest choice he'd ever made.

  


In the end, he didn't answer, he just went back in the room and he sat on the verge of the bed, his back as straight as an arrow.

  


Damen was a few steps behind, stark naked while Laurent had a towel tied around his hips.

  


Laurent had been _hard_ , Damen reasoned, so the problem wasn't getting him _there_. It was probably with getting him further.

  


He pressed his lips as softly as he could against Laurent's throat and felt the hitch in his breath beneath his lips.

  


His fingers were tangled in Laurent's hair, not gripping, just _there_ , and he bended, one knee on the bed, forced Laurent to lean back just a bit, to let go of the tension in his shoulders.

  


Laurent followed, cautiously, still on the edge, still waiting and almost completely out of the haze that the evening had wrapped his mind in.

  


Damen kept pushing him, painfully slow, his back relaxing inch by inch until it hit the mattress.

  


Laurent must have been breathing really fast, because Damen kept repeating soft _shh_ as if he was trying to calm him down. Every touch was a _Relax_ and a _I've got you_ and Laurent trembled, biting his lower lip, while Damen kept sucking the pulsing point on his neck.

  


He started using his hands too, lightly and never enough, brushing Laurent's nipples with his thumbs, digging his fingers into his thighs, lazily rolling his hips against Laurent's.

  


Laurent didn't like falling apart, he thought. He didn't mind giving up control because he thought he was smart enough to always get it back, but _there_ he couldn't simply will himself to get it back, not when he needed to thoroughly lose himself.

  


Damen started tracing lazy patterns inside Laurent's white thighs, sucking marks into his skin, and he said: -You look so hot and beautiful,- and just started bubbling, completely let go of his brain-to-mouth filter.

  


Laurent wanted to laugh sarcastically, shoving his head aside and saying something harsh and witty because god, he sounded so lame. But he also sounded honest. He sounded fair and without restrains and so completely sincere.

  


Damen was...  _sounded_ different.

  


And Laurent didn't want to build his walls higher and higher every time he looked up. He just wanted to lose himself to his touch and his hazel eyes and his soft, praising smile.

  


-Do you believe me?- asked Damen.

  


-Show me.- Laurent heard himself whisper.

  


Damen smirked and kissed him _hard_ , -You are _impossible_ -, he said, his breathing fast and hard, his lips brushing Laurent's, -You drive me insane and I can barely keep up with this damn mouth of yours,- but he kissed him slowly, just tongue and lips, and then his fingers were everywhere across his body, on his chest and on his thighs, brushing his arms and so _so close_ to the place Laurent desperately wanted them.

 

-Don't even get me started,- Damen panted, -With the way you _look_.-

  


A flash passed through Laurent's eyes: -I didn't ask you to tell me. I asked you to show me. I _demand_ you do it.-

  


Damen's lips parted: -You _demand._ \- he repeated, smiling intrigued, before tracing the line off his hip with the point of his tongue, before blowing some hair on the sensitive skin.

  


Laurent shivered.

  


-Look at you.- Damen mumbled -You are so worth worshipping.- he kissed slightly below his navel, breathing profoundly.

  


Laurent closed his eyes, tilted his head up on mattress and breathed through his nose, feeling Damen's tongue move along his thigh - he didn't know what to focus on, between Damen touching him and his mind spinning anxiously around the thought that he couldn't, _shouldn't_ , let go, he just –

  


-Still okay?- Damen asked, his breath damp against Laurent's skin.

  


Laurent kept breathing slowly: -Yeah, I think, just -- -

  


He didn't know how to say _make me stop thinking_ , but Damen just pressed his hands against his thighs, looked at him calm and patient, and Laurent said: -Keep going.-

  


Damen smiled and passed a finger all the way from the base to the tip of Laurent's dick. He gently curled his fingers arounf the head, mumbling softly.

  


The sound Damen was making caused a shiver to go through Laurent's spine.

  


He was looking at him through his long eyelashes, a deep, trembling light in them. Laurent felt so wanted, so worshipped…

  


-You are beautiful.- said Damen, tracing arabesques with his fingers on his hip, while his other hand kept massaging his dick with attentive care.

  


-I can only imagine,- he murmured, slipping into Greek, -The way you look when you come.-

  


Laurent whined, high in his throat, his balls tightening almost painfully, his dick hard between Damen's fingers. He almost wished he didn't speak Greek so he would be able to simply listen without focusing on the words.

  


Damen's mouth was around his nipple, hot and wet and harsh, his hands kept touching and pushing and it felt like he was _everywhere_ , every nerve under Laurent's skin stimulated in the best way. And then Damen was blowing cool air on his damp skin and his lips were tight around his lobe, and there he said: -Let go.-

  


Laurent clamped his eyes shut, his teeth sunk in his bottom lip, making him taste the bitter, ferrous taste of his blood.

  


-No, no, no.- Damen's fingers caressed his mouth, making him release his grasp -Relax.- he murmured, in a melodic tone, passing his thumb along them.

  


He kissed him gently, licking his lower lip.

  


-Let go.- he said again, against his lips: A prayer, a plea. -Let yourself go, Laurent.- he said in French.

  


It was the way he said his name, the _r_ rolled up in his tongue, the loose grip Damen had around his dick, the thumb brushing the tip, the feel of Damen lips against his own.

  


Hot, white, bright pleasure burned his eyes, his eyelids shut, and he came with a moan swallowed by Damen's tongue.

  


Damen pressed his forehead against Laurent's, kissing his lips and his cheeks softly, waiting for him to stop shivering.

  


Except he didn't.

  


-Hey, hey everything is okay.- he whispered, caressing his cheekbone with his nose and passing cautiously an arm around his waist: -I am here. Just for you.-

  


Laurent exhaled, coming down so so slowly, digging his fingers into the mattress.

  


Damen kept shushing him gently, combing through his hair with his fingers.

  


It took him almost another full minute to stop shivering, to open his eyes.

  


-There you are,- Damen murmured.

  


Laurent blinked, watching Damen as if he was looking at him for the first time. It felt like it. Something warm and cosy was going through his veins, his eyes stuck to Damen's.

  


-Are you okay?-

  


-Yes,- his throat was incredibly dry, his voice scratchy, -Yeah, I'm fine.-

  


-Okay,- Damen said, his expression relaxed, -That was ... good?-

  


Laurent almost said something snarky, but he saw Damen watching him, his chin on his chest, and said: -It was adequate.-

  


Damen lifted a corner of his mouth: -Just _adequate_? I must be out of practice. I was expecting something more like "Amazing", "outstanding", "out of the world"...-

  


Laurent hid his smile behind his left hand but his smirk was clear in his eyes.

  


-You think I'm funny.-

  


-I'm laughing _at_ you,- Laurent said, -Not _with_ you.-

  


-I don't believe you,- Damen said, shrugging awkwardly because he was still leaning most of his weight on Laurent's chest.

  


Laurent rolled his eyes: -You know we have to take another shower now, right?-

  


-I am well aware. Can't wait.-

  


Laurent rolled his eyes: -I'll go first, since I have to go back to my room after.-

  


Damen furrowed his brows: -I would be a terrible host if I let you.-

  


Laurent stopped, on his way to get out of bed: -I can't stay,- he said.

  


-Why not?- Damen asked, sitting up. He was still gloriously naked.

  


-Because,- Laurent said, almost confused, -It was just – sex.-

  


Damen wrinkled his nose: -Even if it was, why can't you sleep here?-

  


Laurent opened and closed his mouth.

  


Damen got up: -Because it's an intimate act?-

  


-Yeah,- Laurent said. And then: -It _was_ just sex.-

  


Damen decided to ignore the last sentence. He held up his hand. Which was covered in Laurent's come.

  


-I think the not being intimate ship has sailed,- Damen said, wiggling his eyebrows. -If, as you say, we've had non-intimate sex, we can definitely non-intimately sleep together.-

  


Laurent lifted his left eyebrow: -There is no such thing. Sleeping is intimate because you allow yourself to be vulnerable.-

  


-Do you think I will smother with a pillow or something?-

  


Laurent glared at him: -You know what I mean.-

  


Damen shrugged: -I don't. Not really. Sleeping is sleeping and sex is sex, you just keep overthinking stuff. But, if it makes you feel more comfortable, go ahead,- he gestured towards the bathroom, -Take a shower and go back to your room.-

  


-I will,- Laurent replied, a bit stiffly.

  


Damen really hoped that reverse psychology worked on Laurent. He wanted him to stay. He didn't know why precisely: it wasn't just proving a point, it was a matter of showing Laurent that caring was a thing, that sex could be amazing when selfless, that he could allow himself to let go.

  


It didn't work.

  


Laurent took possibly the fastest shower in history and was out of the bathroom in a matter of minutes, wet clothes back to cover his lean body and wet hair up in a bun.

  


Damen blinked and Laurent raised an eyebrow: -See you when I see you, I guess.-

  


Damen kept staring long after the door was closed.

  


Well .

  


That hadn't gone as planned for sure.

*

Nicaise was in the hotel lobby – _thankfully_ he wasn't drinking, just boredly looking at his phone. _Then_ Laurent realized there was no way he could go up to his room without being spotted.

He sighed.

He sat next to Nicaise, who didn't bother looking at him; he just said: -Your brother was kind of worried about you. Which, I mean, it's not that weird, since he's _Auguste_. But sending _me_ to check up on you? _That's_ weird. So,- he looked up from his phone, -Who did you hook up with?-

Laurent groaned, shifting uncomfortably on the small leathery couch: - _No one._ -

Nicaise raised an eyebrow: -It was the Greek guy, wasn't it?-

-My brother doesn't need to worry about me. And what makes you say _that_?-

Nicaise looked at him as to say _dude. Please._ -Everyone's been talking about you two, you know? On the French team. They always see the two of you together and colorful insults have been flying your way because you've never talked to any of _them_.-

Laurent rolled his eyes: -I just like to focus, okay?-

Nicaise shrugged: -You don't have to explain that to _me_. Also, stop trying to change the topic. Actually, you know what?, I think that's exactly why your brother is worried. It's not like you to find distractions, especially here,- he gestured to the hotel and the few athletes still hanging around, -And even less like you to just sleep with people.-

-He was the one who told me to do it!- Laurent protested, eyes wide.

- _Laurent_ ,- Nicaise said, sharp, and Laurent looked away, said: -I _wanted_ to, okay?- frustrated and annoyed and resigned, -He's _attractive_ and he makes it look like he cares and I wanted to _try_. He _waited_.-

Nicaise was watching him closely: -And?-

- _And_ nothing. It was just sex.-

-Sure,- Nicaise snorted, -It was just sex and it was the first time you got off with another guy in, what?, four years? Just sex, all right.-

Laurent looked away: -It's disturbing that you know that.-

Nicaise shook his head, slowly, a bit resigned: -It doesn't take a genius to figure out it's been since the accident,- he said, softly.

-Yeah,- Laurent said, just as softly, -I'll just – I'll go to sleep, okay? I can't think about it right now.-

Nicaise looked at him like he wanted to say something but decided otherwise. -Okay,- he said.

  


*

  


The building was huge and the bleachers were crowded with all kinds of people. 

Damen - well, Nikandros (a very non-supportive Nikandros) – had had to call in favours from half the committee to find a place to sit. It was a huge mess. The whole situation. Damen. 

After Laurent had left, the night before, he had not been able to take his mind off of him. He'd kept thinking about his frown and his body and his eyes: blue, almost indigo with a storm of feelings he didn't understand. He wanted to. For some strange, incomprehensible reason, he just trembled with the desire to know him, to solve the mystery, to discover every hidden secret Laurent so desperately kept.

  


So he had been drawn there. At Laurent's competition, wanting to see him move and behave and be himself in his natural habitat.

Athletes' sports aren't simply past-times, not at those levels; they aren't hobbies or even jobs: they are vocations. No different from religious experiences. Laurent had been lying when he'd told Damen that his choice was random, he 'd been lying when he'd implied he could have chosen any other sport.

The thing is, it is like some Harry Potter crap: it is not the person who chooses the sport, it is the sport that chooses the person. Damen knew it. He'd lied too. He did not do it just for Kastor, just to be liked by him, just to be like him. He'd started boxing because there wasn't anything else in the world he could have ever done. He felt alive in the precise moment he stepped on the ring only. And it had to be the same for Laurent. Even if he did not say it, or admit it.

Damen clapped when Laurent stood on the platform, his mask-thing squished between his elbow and his hip, and the calm and seraphic expression of someone extremely sure of himself and his abilities. Damen spotted Auguste behind the platform and he wondered if at least one of them was as nervous as he was in that moment. God, he felt like an apprehensive mother. Was Laurent's mom watching him on TV? He didn't know anything about Laurent's family apart from the fact that Auguste was his brother. He blinked, startled, when he realized a part of him wanted to know.

The French national anthem sounded pompous to Damen's ears but Laurent seemed captured, his eyes was almost closed, and his light lashes almost nonexistent.

Damen didn't know a thing about fencing. He was pretty sure Greece hadn’t even qualified for that sport. He had never watched a competition in his life and he barely knew the basic rules, but when Laurent started fighting on that platform, he felt like all the air had been taken from his lungs. His movements were so elegant and straightforward that he looked like he was flying. No, he looked like he was dancing, moving on his feet and balancing his weight like he was on a stage, performing in a ballet. His thrusts were invisible, his foil like the stinger of an extremely lethal insect. His competitor didn't stand a chance. Damen could feel it in his soul.

He beat him in such a short time that Damen wasn't even sure it could be considered acceptable by the rules. Laurent took off his mask and looked around, breathing heavily.

They saw each other.

Damen smirked.

Laurent rolled his eyes.

*

It was quite brutal.

Laurent barely had the time to breathe between the first fight and second one and Damen was watching him from the bleachers and _that_ was something Laurent hadn’t thought about, had _actively_ refused to because he just _couldn’t_ , it was way too distracting and he couldn’t afford any distractions.

He was being sloppy and he wasn't paying attention, not as much as he should have, and he didn't know how to bring himself to _do it_ , because he just couldn't find it in himself _why_ , why was he doing this, and that was such a _bad time_ to have and existential crisis, _god damn it._

He wondered if Damen was holding his breath, he hoped Auguste would be proud of him.

And it was all it took, really.

Fencing was a precise sport, tight with rules and attention and anxiety, and Laurent was already on the edge, walking a line that was way too fine, and it only took a slight mistake for Daniele Garozzo to win – for Laurent to lose.

It was extremely anti-climatic, the way the referee raised his arm to point at the winner, and Laurent barely felt Auguste’s hand gripping his arm to take him away.

He almost wanted to say _but this can't be it_ even though he knew how childish that was, because he’d been there and he'd even won his first match and suddenly he’d just lost, like a house of card that’s suddenly just blown away.

He started shaking, but he only realized it because Auguste held him tight, forcing his hands between their bodies and it suddenly downed on him: that was it. He'd lost.

*

Damen wanted to see Laurent.

He wanted to see him so bad. He pushed and pushed in the crowd and he showed his badge as an Olympian to everyone who tried to stop him. He told them they were friends. (It wasn't really the truth, but Laurent wasn't there to shut him up or to roll his eyes or to do anything else, so.) When he arrived to the locker rooms, though, Laurent wasn't there. He looked around the room, eyes roaming to find those blond locks. He wasn't there. Auguste wasn't there either.

Where was he? They couldn't have left so soon, they should have been there relaxing, taking a shower, brainstorming with their teammates about what to do.

Damen ran a hand through his hair and kept looking around, ignoring everyone who asked him who was he looking for and why was he there. When he was about to leave, someone tapped his hip. (Yes, hip, not shoulder.) Damen turned around and in front of him he found the... teenager? with whom Laurent had been when they'd met the first time.

-Hi.- he said, frowning.

-He's not here.-

Damen didn't know why, but he felt himself blushing. That kid made him uncomfortable. -I can see that.- It was useless to play dumb, he would not have found a way to justify his presence there or outsmart him. He looked like a younger version of Laurent.

The kid sighed, almost as if he thought Damen was being particularly slow.

Damen felt the same way, honestly.

-Listen,- the kid said. He was still wearing his blue, sparkling earring, -I don't want to be that cliché who tells you what you need to hear, okay? But Laurent -- he's not like you. Love and affection don't come naturally to him and he's probably not going to change. Also, he's probably going back to his room to pack,- he smiled, almost sadly. Damen thought he looked so much older than he actually was, like he knew a little too much, was a little too smart, -This was everything to him,- he said, almost softly, and then looked at Damen, his light blue eyes a little bit harder: -It's your fault he lost. Partially, at least.-

Damen probably looked stricken, because the kid laughed at him, not unkindly: -Don't worry. He needed to lose this.-, and then: -What are you still doing here?-, and Damen ran.

*

Damen could have easily knocked the door down.

He wasn't just bragging, it wasn't an arrogant thought in his head. He knew he was capable of something like that. -Laurent.- he called for the umpteenth time. No answer.

Maybe trying to drown himself in the bathtub or something.

Maybe he was being too dramatic.

-Laurent.- Nothing. Damen sighed and leaned his head against the door. There was a little French flag painted there. -I'll miss you,- he said, and then nothing else, because there was nothing simple he could say.

*

Auguste looked at him but Laurent kept tossing his clothes into his bag, ignoring the heavy weight of his brother's gaze. He was still sweaty and out of breath from the match, had only managed to pull off half of his suit, which was now hanging uncomfortably from his hips.

 _I'll miss you_.

*

From: Auguste

Flight leaving at 7 pm. Nicaise says 'don't be there'.

Laurent looked at his phone for a couple of seconds and then slipped it inside his pocket.

He raised his head and he sighed: Damen was fighting. His curls were heavy with sweat and they curled on his forehead and on his neck.

He was frowning, his hands, strictly enveloped in bands inside his gloves, moved quickly, hitting his opponent with strength and precision.

When he saw that guy from the USA kept hitting him in a row, Laurent couldn't keep it under control any longer and he thought of Auguste telling him w _hy are you running, little brother? It isn't like you_ , and it really wasn't, he didn't want to be like _that_ and he didn't want to run away – he didn't want to let go without knowing and _what the hell_ , he'd lost the Olympics, what if he was going to lose a little bit of his dignity too?

Ho shot up from his seat and rushed out.

To: Auguste

I'm right on time.

*

Damen was sweating.

He was wearing the goddamn Greek white/light blue tracksuit, ready to attend the closing ceremony and he didn't even feel like it.

Nikandros cuffed him around the head. -Look alive.-

-Hey!- he protested, passed a hand on the back of his head, -I am suffocating in this thing. I want this to be finished as soon as possible.- he looked around, feeling uncomfortable. There wasn't even a clock to check the time.

Obviously.

He guessed nobody expected people to be obsessively check the time because they couldn't wait for the ceremony to be over. There were athletes and people all over and Damen was at least lucky enough to be pretty tall and have some kind of access to some fresh air over their heads.

Nikandros shook his head: -I swear to god, the next time you let your dick rule your head I'm just going to cut it off.-

Damen gulped.

-I'm not...- he started, then he sighed.

  


He couldn't even deny it. Nikandros was painfully right.

  


He couldn't wait to leave everything behind and be back in Athens. He didn't even care. He didn't want to prove a point to his brother, his family, the papers anymore. Yes, he'd done it. Yes, he'd won the gold, free of every charge of substance abuse, free of every lie Kastor had ever thrown at him. And he didn't care. He didn't care because of some French guy with blond hair and a completely crazy personality.

  


He couldn't think about anything or anyone else.

  


Was it really his fault if Laurent had lost the gold? Was the kid right? Did Laurent hate him? He wanted to know. And he didn't. The thing he wanted most was to be able to leave these Olympic Games behind.

  


Nikandros bumped his shoulder. -Come with me. We have to start from there.-

  


They weren't far from the French team, and Damen huffed, his arms crossed over his chest.

  


_Ho_ _nestly_ , it felt like it was an endless nightmare.

  


He let his eyes roam through the crowd, and briefly locked his gaze with the earring kid's.

He'd won a bronze, the menace.

The kid glanced back in the French crowd and then back at him.

Damen raised his eyebrows and the kid did it again, his eyes a little bit impatient.

Damen followed his gaze – because of course, of _freaking_ course.

He was there, all blond hair and sharp cheekbones and blue eyes and Damen hated him so much, for a second, he felt all these things and he thought he might punch him in the face.

Laurent looked at him like some dumb movie, and he smiled, small and private. Almost shy.

He started walking towards Damen. He was agile and lean enough that he could do that with almost no effort.

-Damianos.-

Laurent was beautiful. His colors weren't so different from Damen's: the blue, the white and the red did wonderful things to his eyes.

Damen wanted to tell him that.

Pathetic.

-Laurent.- said Damen, and his voice sounded strange to his own ears. He looked like a kid in front of his first crush.

-You won a gold.-

Damen nodded: -I did. Did you watch?- he asked, and a part of him wished he hadn't right after he completed the sentence.

Laurent raised his eyebrows, but he was smiling: -I did. At the airport. And then when I came back.-

Damen nodded: -I looked for you after -- You didn't...-

Laurent averted his gaze: -I heard you.- he just answered and smiled, almost shyly.

Damen wanted to reach out, but he couldn't. -Are you ready to parade?-

Laurent looked at him: -Not really. I wanted to say something first.-

Damen almost took a step back, because a part of him didn't really want to listen. He wanted to hurt Laurent, just a bit. -What is it?- he asked in the end.

Laurent took a deep breath and let it go, looking around just for a second. Damen could see Nicaise was watching them, not subtle at all.

-I made a mistake. When I left. I should have stayed, I think – - he glanced at him, hesitantly, -I think I hurt you,- a weird smile curled his lips, -I almost hope I did because it would mean you care. At least a bit.-

-You did,- Damen blinked, surprised, almost, -Of course you did, you arrogant idiot!-

Laurent winced: -Yeah, I guessed I deserved that.-

-You can bet your ass you did!- Damen crossed his arms over his chest, almost protectively, -I wanted you to stay, I basically asked you to! _Twice_!-

-I know,- Laurent took a step forward, his hands balled into fists, -I'm _sorry_ , I was just – Fencing is my whole life, _has been_ my whole life since – since Auguste had to give it up because of me, and I came here and I was sure I would do _something_ with it, I would find out _why_ I've been doing this, but then I found you instead!-

-Well,- Damen said, sarcastic, -Sorry to be such a bad replacement.-

Laurent growled, frustrated: - _Listen_ to me. I was _terrified_ of you, do you understand that? I needed you to be just fun and new and _simple_ , but you are the most complicated thing that ever happened to me, and I'm _glad_ I lost because it made me realize that I didn't _care_ , and that I care about you instead!-, his cheeks were suddenly red and he took a step back, looking away, -And I don't care if it's not the same for you, I just – I wanted to thank you. Because you were kind and stubborn and good. And I needed to see that.-

Damen's jaw dropped: -Oh. That's...- he hesitated, his mind running furiously, trying to find a viable answer.

It was like Laurent had opened not only his heart to him, but his chest right in front of him; like he was seeing the deepest parts of his soul.

-I fell for you so hard but... I didn't really know how to act on this, especially because you didn't – you wouldn't open up to me.- he paused and Laurent watched him, eyebrows raised. -Which you did. Now. Right now.- he passed a hand on his neck.

Laurent licked his lips and took a step closer, finally looking relaxed: -That I did.-

Damen glanced at his lips and someone called for the Greek team to move.

-Oh, damn if I'm going to let anyone stop me,- he said.

And he kissed him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> A quick mention of their backstories (we felt like pushing them somewhere would have been too obvious, like yeah, here are their stories because we didn't know how else to tell you).  
> So:  
> Four years prior to the story, Laurent was 17/18 and he went to a party because he was young and reckless and stupid and Auguste never had time for him because he was too busy training to go to the Olympics; Laurent didn't understand him: he liked fencing well enough, but not that much.  
> Long story short, he got spectacularly drunk and Auguste had to go and pick him up - except that Auguste wasn't driving because his uncle was helping him with his training, so it was actually their lovely uncle - who hated Laurent's bad boyish attitude and only had patience for Auguste's promising future - who was driving and ended up causing an accident on their way back home; the accident caused Auguste to lose his ability to fight at Olympic levels. Their uncle started blaming Laurent and Laurent started blaming himself until Auguste told their uncle to fuck off because he wasn't letting him talk like that to his little brother.
> 
> Damen:  
> Damen was driven onto a bad path by his brother, Kastor, who started doing drugs while they were both training - they were both boxers. Except that Damen was found out and kicked off the Olympic team. (Yeah, 2012 wasn't a good year for Lamen.)  
> Anyway, Nikandros helped pull his head out of his ass and get back on track.


End file.
